


I Pick My Poison And It's You

by Bellelaide



Category: Trainspotting (Movies), Trainspotting Series - Irvine Welsh
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Clean Mark, Lecturer Mark, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 10:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellelaide/pseuds/Bellelaide
Summary: In which Mark never dropped out of university, never took heroin and made something of himself but the others didn't - they bump into each other twenty years later





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a leap in the dark...

Lecturing was fucking demanding. 

It wasn't exactly physically so, despite the hours spent on your feet, but mentally draining - these kids were paying through the nose for his time and they made sure Mark knew it. Everything he said someone questioned - "But did John Balliol really make the decision by himself to align with France?" - and they sometimes demanded knowledge the historical figures themselves wouldn't have, let alone Mark Renton. 

It was rewarding too. 

His research had helped the agricultural sector understand why certain areas of land were un-farmable and he'd made breakthroughs in knowledge of William Wallace's life prior to the wars of independence. His students admired him and it made him extremely happy to see the progress they made from starting his modules to leaving them. The pay check was a bonus, obviously - he never dreamed growing up in the Fort in Leith that he'd be clearing 90k a year after tax, that his studies at Aberdeen and subsequent masters and then PhD at Oxford and Glasgow, respectively, would lead to the kind of career boys like him could only dream of. 

His studies had probably saved his life too, his mum was always quick to note. When he'd been studying for his undergrad heroin had flooded Edinburgh and Leith. His friends - Spud, Sick Boy, Matty - had fallen victim to the drug and although they'd encouraged Mark to do it too, he'd been adamant - he wasn't going to watch his life go down the drain. His friends made it clear that they felt he'd changed since going to university and eventually contact stopped. 

Mark had made new friends; crafted a new life for himself. He'd moved in with Fiona, his girlfriend and fellow History student, towards the end of his undergrad and by his PhD they were married. He wanted kids but she wanted a career, and so they'd split somewhat amicably a few years ago, which was how Mark found himself alone on his sofa on a Friday night marking essays and watching old reruns of Friends. 

His house was, he had to admit, stunning - it was in the new town of Edinburgh and he had taken infinite pride in getting it to look how he wanted, feeling often that he ought to invite people round to enjoy it with him and yet never making any moves to do so. Since splitting with Fiona, Mark had isolated himself further and further from the people around him and even his own family - despite his job and the academic respect that came with it, he often felt that he was judged for his upbringing and strong Scottish accent, yet only worried that he'd feel out of place amongst his family and people from Leith, as if they'd judge him for being too well off now, too posh almost. He avoided Leith and his old friends at the detriment of his family relationships and avoided time spent with his colleagues in order to ignore the feelings of inadequacy he fuelled within himself. 

There had been women and the occasional man since Fiona but no one he had clicked with or felt like settling down with. There was a researcher in the department at work who had asked him out a few times but he'd kept declining, positive there was no sexual chemistry between them and unwilling to waste his time trying to find out. Linda was always gracious about it and never let things get awkward, which Mark appreciated. 

At about 9 he gave up on marking and corked a bottle of white wine, settling back down and tuning in and out of the TV. It was times like these - boring, mundane - that he regretted turning Linda down, and he knew with a few more glasses he might even message her on Facebook, so he stopped himself from doing something he'd regret by slipping into bed, having a wank, and falling asleep. 

His life was good. Satisfactory. But something was missing. 

\----- 

He woke up early and considered missing his morning run but forced himself out of bed, into his running gear and out the door. The city was unreal so early in the morning; it was quiet and full of promise - Edinburgh wasn't like other cities in that it didn't sleep. The streets went quiet, the air new and unbreathed. Curtains were drawn against the slowly creeping daylight that pressed against the windowpanes like an insistent lover, demanding attention and consciousness. 

He always felt as if the ghosts of history were lingering at this time in the morning, the phantom bustle of 18th century markets and daily life moving silently around him in a shadow of the past. Edinburgh was his when it was like this. It was just the two of them. It was his past, his present. It was his mum and dad, his brothers, the friends he had lost to its dark period of drug epidemic. It was everything that made Mark, Mark.

He could always think a bit clearer during a run, something he conveniently managed to forget at 5am under the warmth of his duvet, but he never regretted it when he was out. He thought about how lonely he was from time to time. Being on his own suited him a portion of the time, but times like last night - he didn't want to sit alone anymore. Maybe he'd join a dating app, or phone Linda and swallow his pride - in fact, he'd definitely do one of the two. Probably the latter as he was always nervous he'd see one of his students on Rinder or whatever it was called. 

His feet pounded against the thick sure slabs of Edinburgh's new town and drove him on back towards home, steady under his feet and grounding him in the notion that everything was going to be fine - he was going to finish this run, he was going to finish his new thesis, he was going to find someone to give him companionship. 

He came to a stop outside his home a few miles later and breathed desperately, his shaking hand gripping the black iron railing for support. He felt alive and excited. Today felt pregnant. Something remarkable was going to happen, he was sure of it. He glanced up at his front door - Georgian, black - and smiled in quiet appreciation of how lucky he was and how he should give some positive energy back to the universe, before mentally reprimanding himself for having the kind of thought younger him would've hated, and made his way up the short set of stairs and towards the the day as it came at him unrelentingly. 

\---- 

He showered and ate breakfast whilst checking the news on his phone, then decided he'd phone his dad and ask what his plans for the day were, and whether he'd like to go for a drink later. His dad told him he didn't have any plans but his back was playing up and they'd have to go for a drink somewhere in Leith, as he didn't feel up to travelling into the new town. Mark almost hesitated - he avoided Leith as much as possible; stayed away from his past and the people he hadn't spoken to in decades. 

Life had to go on though, and so Mark agreed to meet his dad at a bar restaurant later in the afternoon. In the meantime he did some housework and spent an hour agonising over what to say to Linda - he'd never so much as flirted with her before so she'd not be expecting this, but he wanted to make it look legit. He settled on something along the lines of "I've been thinking about you a lot and I'd love to take you for a drink," and sent the message on Facebook, internally cringing at the tackiness of a social media interaction and then cringing again at how old he had apparently become. 

Ach, Linda was nice. She was pretty, smart, keen. He was definitely doing the right thing here, definitely making the right - 

His heart leapt as his phone beeped a few minutes later to signal a response. Mark steadied himself and turned his phone over slowly, eyes voraciously scanning the notification with its snippet of her reply: Linda Campbell: "Hey, Mark! That'd be great - I'm free next weekend, or any night next again week as my tutor group brea..."

Mark grinned and put his phone back down, resolving to reply in a few hours so as not to appear too keen. He still had it - he was never sure what 'it' was, but he always had something that women liked and he didn't like to question it too much. The creeping doubt that edged into his mind at the thought of any kind of relationship with Linda was a thought for another time, too, so instead he headed out and down towards Leith. 

\----- 

His dad had wanted to meet in the Central Bar but Mark had firmly put his foot down on that - the likelihood of bumping into someone he knew was too high and he didn't have the energy to defend his new life to his old schemie mates. They'd felt betrayed by his decision to choose education over drugs, over them, and Mark always resented that they hadn't wanted the best for him. 

He'd met his dad in Woodland Creatures instead, a bar further up the walk that sold artisan beers and was a bit studenty but certain not to have any of the clientele he wished to avoid. They chatted about politics for a few hours, and discussed Mark's mum and how she was getting ready to retire later in the year. It was nice and it always made Mark feel more like himself - less like Mark the academic and more like Mark the guy who liked a pint and cracking not-strictly-pc jokes. 

"Sometimes a don't feel like myself, dad. Like me when a was younger. This has been nice, a needed it - thank you." Mark and his dad weren't sentimental and both cringed a bit at the openness of Mark's words, but his dad smiled and patted him on the arm anyway, thinking himself about how Mark had changed and grown since getting out of Leith. 

"Me and yer ma would love tae see mare ae ye Mark, see ye settle down n all. Is there naeone on the cards still?" 

"A know, dad, a need to make more of an effort. I'm going to try harder, make the trip down more, Sunday dinner or that." 

"Aye, we'd like that, son." 

"And am still single. There's no rush, a know mum worries... but I'm doing my best." 

"A know son, a know. Wid just be nice, ken, seein ye settled doon." 

"Aye, I'm happy though dad - when it's meant to happen, it will." 

"Right enough Mark. Here, dae ye mind that laddie Murphy? Spud yees cawed um?" 

"Aye, course. What about him?" 

"He overdosed apparently, the other day there. Havny heard if he's still living or no mind you. Him n aw they laddies, they're fuckin wasters Mark. Still, shame fur ees faimly. He's got a wain by that Gail, still canny get aff the gear. It's fucked up." 

Mark shook his head in silent judgement. "A just don't see the appeal in it. Daniel was always spacey and into taking stuff but that heroin was always a step too far. I'm surprised it's taken this long for him to top himself if I'm honest." 

"They aw cut about like right sad cases, folk cross the street when they see them n that. Al never understand it - why ye'd dae that tae yersel. Enough aboot they junkies but. Dae ye want a game ae pool?" 

Mark had never been any good at any kind of sport but he agreed to a game anyway, enjoying his dad's happiness and only slightly suspicious of how his back seemed alright when it came to bending over a pool table, but not walking a mile further to Mark's end of town.

By the time they left the bar and headed in their opposite directions, it was dark and Mark was filled with the warm buzzing sensation of beer and summer air. He pulled out his phone and read the rest of Linda's message, asking her for a drink a week next Saturday. He felt more relaxed about the whole thing after his talk with his dad and the beers had helped, so any doubts about whether or not he really fancied her or could see things progressing were squashed down to the darkest corners of his mind. 

He decided to walk back to the new town rather than get a taxi, taking advantage of the nice night and his temporary break from feeling a bit lost - being back in Leith felt strangely like a bit of his identity had returned to him and he wanted to hang onto that sensation for as long as possible. 

He was conflicted constantly with the desire to live the life he had built and behave like the middle class people was now surrounded by, and the need to build a better relationship with his parents and allow himself to be the little boy from a scheme in Leith who had just gotten lucky. 

The thing was, he didn't actually judge his friends for taking those drugs - he himself had dabbled in all the same shit as them before he'd went to Aberdeen, and he knew that if not for Fiona he might even have joined his friends in succumbing to heroin - his life would've been completely different. Obviously there was the argument with Sick Boy - but he didn't want to think about that, ever, so he shut his mind up there and started thinking about a new proposal for a journal he had been toying with, considering going into a corner shop and picking up a packet of cigarettes for old time's sake. 

The city was buzzing with cars and people, Saturday nightlife about to kick off for the next few hours before Edinburgh returned to its silent slumber, preparing for another day of sun. Mark's stomach clenched at the thought that twenty years ago, he and his friends would be drinking somewhere and getting ready to go out clubbing, competing to see who could pull the poshest fanny first. It was never Mark. He considered that maybe he was having a mid life crisis, and if he was, maybe he'd get away with turning up to a club tonight alone, just to remind himself how it felt to be filled with the prospect of possibility and a little bit of speed and the invincibility of youth. 

He was 37 though and not pathetic enough to want to stand at the back of a nightclub watching kids do those things. He - 

Mark froze at the sound of the voice. He let out a breath and went to keep walking but he heard it again, clearly - he turned around and there, on the stoop of a closed restaurant, was Sick Boy, huddled up and holding out an old coffee cup to passers by, asking dejectedly for spare change. His eyes were sunken and his skin looked dirty, his hair dark and unruly. Mark was sure he'd have heard from his parents or through the grapevine if Simon had been made homeless - the idea of it seemed impossible, what with his big family and charming ability to always land on his feet. Mark shook his head and decided that it wasn't Simon, that it couldn't be. He made to turn away when the man looked at him, his eyes seeming unfocussed, and said "Renton?" 

Mark's heart clenched in his chest. He thought about turning around and walking the other way but something drove him forward and he stepped closer, bending down uncertainly next to him. "Aye, it's me. Simon?" 

"Holy fuck... it's been years, Renton... " 

His speech was slow and Mark was sure he had not long taken something, but he was surprised at how familiar it sounded to him and how it made him want to go back to the days before uni and life had dragged them apart. 

"A know, Simon, I'm... what's happened to you? Do you need me to get you a taxi to somewhere? What's been going on?" 

"Nah, mate. Am fine here. Just a bit tight this month ae, that's aw. This is weird Mark." He snorted. "Bet this is hilarious for ye." 

Mark frowned. "Of course it's not funny Simon. Can you not go to your mums, have you not got any pals you could stay with? A can't leave you here, Simon." 

"You sound posh as fuck, Rents, that'll be the uni n aw that," Simon said by way of answer, his soft expression growing defensive. "A dinny need yer pity. Am fine." 

"I'm not pitying you, I'm just saying it wouldn't be right to leave you on the streets - " 

"You dinny huv a fuckin clue, Mark. Av no seen you down this wey for years. Everywan kens yer a fuckin posh cunt now. Am no 'left on the streets' as ye put it. Ye dinny ken nout. Like a said, nice tae see ye. But fuck off." 

Mark reeled back as indigence flooded his brain, fully resenting being referred to as posh even though he absolutely was these days. He made to stand up and head away when a sense of guilt washed over him and he felt a strange and ancient responsibility to take care of Simon, even though they hadn't spoken for such a long period of time, ending things the way they did. Before he could remember the one hundred and one reasons why he should walk away from Simon, Mark stood in front of him and spoke with what he hoped was authority. 

"I'm not judging you. I'm not pitying you. But we were friends and a cared about you. Let me take you wherever you're staying and get you something to eat, at the very least. Am not a monster, Simon. I can't just leave you here." 

Simon snorted. "Friends? No how a remember it." 

"Simon, please."

"Av nowhere to go, smart arse. It's complicated. Am used to this now and it suits me fine. Like a said, leave me the fuck alone." 

"Stay at mine then. Just for the night, and I'll see what a can do to help you get back on your feet. I'm not going to beg you but a really want to help you. A don't want to think of you like this." 

Simon laughed sarcastically and chewed his bottom lip. "Ye no scared al rob ye blind? Murder ye in yer sleep? Yer posh neighbours no be a bit concerned?" 

"A would say a know where you live, but..." 

Simon scowled at the poor joke and shook his head in irritation. 

"Sorry. That was in poor taste. You're not going to rob me. C'mon." Mark stretched out a hand toward Simon, who stared at it for a moment before taking it and getting to his feet, his skin rough against Mark's soft, unlabored hands. 

"Where we goin then, fuckin Morningside?" 

"Nah, new town. C'mon, we'll get a taxi up." 

Mark moved toward the street to flag a black cab and took a second to take stock of what he'd just done. The man he'd largely spent the last couple of decades avoiding was now homeless and on his way to Mark's home. Panic threatened to bubble up his throat as he considered that he was allowing a possible heroin addict access to his belongings, valuables and life and he half hoped that when he turned around again Simon would have done a runner back down the walk, but there he was, shuffling his feet behind Mark with an abject, exhausted look on his face - Mark was overcome by how unlike himself he looked, by how dull and beaten up he looked now compared with the image of vibrancy he always had in Mark's memory. His eyes that had once been so bright and alive were dark and two dimensional, his skin sallow and dirty, his shoulders hunched keeping him from his full height. Mark told himself that what he was doing was the right thing. Seeing Simon like this, it was Mark's responsibility to nurse him back to health like a bird with a broken wing chirping desperately for mercy. 

A cab stopped and they climbed in, Mark shouting his address through the plastic divider and sitting at the opposite end of the back seat to Simon. The silence between them was tense and awkward. Mark couldn't think of a single thing that would be appropriate so he stared furiously out the window instead, trying not to focus on how bad Simon smelled beside him. 

The journey didn't take long and Mark paid the driver without waiting for change, yanking open the door of the cab and holding it open for Simon who all but fell out after him, his eyes wide as he took in Mark's street. 

"You dinny live here." He said, dead pan. 

"It's nice, isn't it?" Mark replied, taking his keys from his pocket and heading toward his front door. 

Simon followed him and stared in awe as they passed the threshold, unsure how someone from the kind of background they had could own a property like this. 

"Landed on yer fuckin feet Mark." He mumbled, then he stopped. "Am sorry, a dunno why av... why am here. Av got stuff to be gettin on wae. A think a should leave." 

"Stay at least a night, Simon. Get a bath or that and have a beer with me. Can whatever it is not wait?" 

Simon shuffled from foot to foot, his dirty shoes flaking mud onto Mark's white carpet, the rustling sound of his rain jacket assaulting the silence of the house. 

"A dinny... am no wantin hospitality." 

"No, it's no like that. It's just old mates. We can take it day by day. Give me your coat." 

He reached out for Simon's coat. Simon looked ready to bolt, his body angled toward the front door. For the first time true emotion was readable on his face, and he seemed scared, anxious. This was utterly bizarre, them standing here together, and Mark was sure his face mirrored Simon's even as he fought to school his expression into one of calm and reassurance. 

Whatever was going on internally, Simon eventually shrugged his jacket from his shoulders, standing in Mark's foyer in a ratty jumper and black jeans, his arms coming to hold his middle in a show of vulnerability that Mark had never seen from him before. 

"C'mon, I'll show you the guest bedroom and you can get a shower or whatever. I've got some clothes you can borrow, I'll leave them out for you." Mark made to move up the stairs, laying Simon's coat over the bannister and leading the way. 

The guest bedroom was spacious and had an en suite to the left of it, a double bed in the centre and a big window looking out onto the back garden. 

"There's a shower in there, or if you'd prefer a bath the bathroom is down the hall." Mark busied around grabbing towels and fussing with the bedroom, buzzing awkwardly around Simon who felt incredibly out of place and increasingly like he didn't know this Mark at all. 

"A shower's fine. Thank you, Rents." He said, smiling slowly. "This is good ae ye." 

Mark smiled back before going to his own room and looking out a pair of grey jogging bottoms and a t-shirt Simon could wear, unsure whether he should leave underwear and deciding instead that a fresh pair of socks would suffice. When he returned to the bedroom the bathroom door was closed over and the shower was running, so Mark laid the clothes out on the bed and retreated quietly back down the stairs, collapsing into a chair in his kitchen and wondering what the hell he was thinking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I normally hate slow burns but here we are. This one feels like getting a plane off the ground without an engine but we're getting there...

The first thing Mark wanted to do was to tell someone what he'd just done and find out definitively whether he'd effectively made the biggest mistake of his life, or was indeed acting as the charitable saviour he wanted to believe he was. He thought about texting one of the guys from the department but knew they'd think he'd lost his fucking mind. 

He put his head in his hands and breathed deeply, anxiety at the memories of how he and Simon had left things all those years ago causing his pulse to quicken. They'd been inseparable before Mark had went to university - so it would've been wrong leaving him how he'd found him tonight, of that he was sure. Bringing him home though... Mark's mind was swimming. He got up and pulled two beers from the fridge, uncapping both and sitting one opposite him on the kitchen island. He didn't feel like drinking whatsoever but forced the first sip down, trying to appear as normal as he could. 

Simon came into the kitchen shortly after, his hair damp but definitely cleaner. He didn't quite fit in Mark's clothes but the fact he'd changed at all was a bonus. He smiled tight lipped at Mark and grunted a thank you, sliding onto the stool opposite Mark's and wrapping slightly shaking hands around his sweating beer. 

"What've you taken?" Mark asked, and he wanted his voice to sound assertive but it came out too timid. 

Simon narrowed his eyes. "Nothing." 

"If you want me to help you a need to know what I'm dealing with." 

"A don't want ye to help me. Av no asked for that once." 

"Don't be fucking stubborn Simon. Just tell me. What is it, heroin?" 

Simon closed his eyes. "Wit if it is? Ye gonny allow me to stay here if it's class B or under? Any higher and am oot?" 

Mark stared Simon down, taking another drink of his beer and swallowing it exaggeratedly. "As big a prick as ever, a see. At least that's no changed." 

"Likewise. You eyewis wanted a big posh gaff like this, ae Mark? Dae ye never come down tae Leith cos we're aw too stupid fur ye?" 

"A was there the night was a not?" 

"Ye ken fine well wit a mean." 

Mark folded his arms. "I'm not the one who was just begging on Leith fucking Walk Simon. Stop acting up and start talking." 

"Yesterday. Ma last hit. Al probably need another tomorrow or the day after. Am an addict, as you're well aware." 

"Are you going to have another hit? Do you not want to get off it?" 

"A could get clean if a wanted, easy enough. Am no a slave to it Renton, a just dabble when am bored. The other day, a was bored. Al be bored again and al probably take it again." 

"Why, Simon? C'mon to fuck, you were always smarter than this." 

Simon laughed. "Fuck off, Mark. Ye ken - well, mibby no, ye were eyewis a shitebag aboot it - ye ken why folk get addicted. It's the best buzz ye've ever fuckin kent. But, a could still be completely aff it next week if a decided a was done wae it. Dinny ask us stupit questions." 

"You couldn't get off it just because you decided you want to. It's not possible, even for you. A know about heroin and how addictive it is. A can take you down the doctors tomorrow, get some methadone or something? That is, if you're wanting to get your life together?" 

Simon's eyes steeled and he set his jaw. "Watch me. It's fuckin brutal. Dunno if it'll make ye uncomfortable, in yer ivory tower. You gonny let me sweat it out in your stupid fuckin guest bedroom? Throw up on yer white carpet?" 

"If you can go that cold turkey I'll personally take you to the best restaurant in the fucking city and feed you myself." 

Simon put out a hand for Mark to shake. "Deal." 

Simon got up then and walked around the kitchen slowly, his body still slightly hunched and his hands shaking without anything to hold. "Ye got any food in this fuckin showroom?" 

Mark got up and opened the fridge, examining its contents. "Scrambled eggs? Or a can order in?" 

"Aye, eggs'll be fine. I've no eaten aw day." 

Mark lifted the eggs and some cheese from the fridge, setting them down beside the cooker and removing a frying pan from the cupboard. Simon settled back down in his seat, his leg jumping in a manic nervous twitch. 

"Why you not at your mum's, if you don't mind me asking?" Mark asked as he whisked the eggs, his back to Simon. 

"She's back wi ma da. Ye ken the rest." 

Mark didn't reply, unsure what was appropriate - he'd grown up with Simon and experienced his family issues first hand, but it felt like knowing too much about a stranger now and it made him feel uncomfortable. 

"Wit aboot you? Ye no got a woman? Kids?" 

Mark shook his head. "Nah, was married but it didn't work out. No kids. Just me, this house, my job." 

"Ye eyewis were a right wee loner." 

"No need to be fuckin nasty, Si." 

They were quiet for a bit after that, just the sound of the eggs cooking and the clock ticking and the occasional swallowing of beer from Simon. Mark plated up the eggs and sat them down on the island, sliding back onto his stool and feeling satisfied as he watched Simon wolf the eggs down hungrily. 

"Heard Spud Murphy took an overdose. That true?" Mark said eventually, satisfied that Simon was at least no longer starving. 

Simon shrugged. "No the first time. He's alright like, lucky bastard hasny been fatal yet. Probably be kinder if he did fuckin die actually, cunts got nae life worth living." 

"Surely if he cleaned himself up - " 

"Daniel Murphy? Dinny make me fuckin laugh." 

Mark went silent again, studying his finger nails. 

"That why you're still using? Pishy life?" He said eventually, looking up and meeting Simon's eyes. 

Simon stared back. "You still sleeping with men?" His voice was sharp and defiant, and it was the most like himself Mark had heard him yet - it brought him back to the bossy, bordering on mean Sick Boy he'd spent nearly every day of his youth with, the person he sometimes loathed as strongly as he loved.

Simon had hit a nerve though, and Mark pushed himself up from the island, moving to lock the back door and set the frying pan he'd just used to steep. Simon didn't apologise or push the matter forward, instead getting off his own stool and making his way to the hallway. "Am gonny go up to bed, then. Al be gone in the morning." 

Mark dropped the frying pan and sighed, turning around. "Don't leave. It's no bother you being here. You can get clean here, it's probably safer than wherever you've been. After that, leave if you want. Like I said, I'm not going to beg, but I'd like you to stay." 

Simon nodded and turned, going up the stairs slowly and heavily. 

When Mark followed him ten minutes later, Simon's room was dark and quiet. Mark brushed his teeth and removed his clothes, sliding into bed and spending the majority of the night awake, staring at the ceiling. 

\------- 

When Mark got back from his run the next morning, Simon was awake and shivering on the sofa, eyes squeezed shut with his borrowed jumper pulled over his hands. Mark toed off his trainers and knelt down in front of him, putting a hand on his calf to alert him to his presence. 

Simon jumped and flinched, his eyes springing open. The pain he was feeling was evident, and Mark wondered if this was safe, having him here cold turkey. 

"You alright Si?" He asked gently, but Simon ignored him, instead staring through him. "You need me to get you anything?" 

Mark got up when he was ignored a second time, going to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water - a meek offering but something all the same. He left him there and went for a shower, contemplating Simon's behaviour under the spray. He'd either still been high last night or drunk at least, and had obviously sobered up as he slept. He didn't know a lot about heroin but Mark knew the next few days were going to be hellish. He was lecturing the coming week and had a couple of deadlines which was less than ideal, so he decided he'd compromise and work from home, cancelling the lectures for the next few days until Simon was on his feet. Mark mentally berated himself for dropping everything the second Simon was back on the scene, like he was twenty and under the thumb all over again, willing to ask how high when Simon told him to jump. 

He towelled himself off and changed into some jeans, grabbing his phone from his coat pocket where it'd stayed all night. He had a text from his dad, asking if he'd made it home last night, and a message from Linda who was keen to go for a drink next Saturday. 

A date was the last thing that appealed to Mark right now, even despite his desire to settle down or at the very least get his end away. He replied to his dad and chose to ignore Linda for the time being, instead googling how to help someone go cold turkey through an addiction. Most of the things he read advised against cold turkey, but what tips he could garner spoke about plenty of fluids, warmth and basic foods. There were also recommendations of jogs and hot baths, which Mark could definitely encourage. 

He grabbed a blanket from the back of his wardrobe and returned to the living room. Simon was where he left him, immobile apart from the shakes wracking his body. The water was untouched. 

"You need to keep warm, Simon. I'm going to put this blanket on you," Mark told him, gingerly wrapping it around him. "And you need to drink lots of fluids." He held up the glass and hovered it in front of Simon's face. "Helps to flush - " 

"Am well aware." Simon suddenly snapped, his voice not unlike the fucking exorcist. 

"Alright, alright, I'm only trying to fucking help. Drink the water." 

Simon grabbed the glass from Mark and proceeded to spill the majority down himself but drank some nonetheless, mustering a sarcastic smile as he passed the glass back. 

"Gonny go back to sleep." He got out, lying vertically on the couch and closing his eyes again. 

Mark wasn't sure how he'd be able to sleep given the sickness but said nothing, retreating instead to his office and getting started on some of the mountain of work he had due. 

\----- 

Simon woke up again in the afternoon and Mark told him he'd run him a bath. Simon sat on the closed toilet lid with his blanket round his shoulders and barked half hearted orders, demanding the hot tap be turned down, then the cold, then requesting he have bubbles, then shouting that Mark had added too many. 

"Are you having a fucking laugh Simon? You can't be that sick if you can go on like this?" Mark asked, hands on hips, feeling increasingly like he was being taken for a fool. 

Simon huffed, "Just dae it right, yer makin me feel worse." 

He did it how Simon asked, just in pursuit of an easy life, and left him alone to soak, making sure to check in every ten minutes through the door. 

This was fine. They could do this. 

\-------

The second day was much, much worse than the first. Simon didn't move from his bed and refused to eat or drink anything. He kept throwing up despite the emptiness of his stomach and he was despondent most of the time, the pain he was feeling not allowing any other thought or feeling. 

Mark alternated between marking essays and checking on Simon, sometimes bringing food or drink, sometimes just hovering in the doorway and fretting over the way Simon was sweating and wriggling under the covers. 

The third day was the worst by far. Simon shouted and screamed a lot despite how exhausted he must've been. Mark couldn't work much that day, instead pacing across the bottom floor of the house, waiting for the moment Simon would run past him, out the door, searching out a hit. Mark couldn't stay still, couldn't concentrate - he'd taken to sitting outside the bedroom, only moving when the sound of Simon's pain was too overwhelming. Mark didn't sleep at all that night and was grateful for the silence of the fourth day, the way Simon slipped in and out of sleep and was willing to accept soup and a single cup of tea. 

Mark napped when Simon did and if not for his own exhaustion would've laughed at the parallels between this and having a new born baby. The whole situation was ridiculous, Mark knew - but utterly important to him. Mark fell asleep at his desk that night, staring at the screen of his laptop, his mind a flurry of thought. 

\------ 

"Mark? Rents?" 

A hand on Mark's shoulder was bringing him into consciousness, shaking him into alertness - 

"Mark?!" 

That was definitely Simon's voice. Mark sat up quickly, disorientated and with an intensely sore neck. He blinked and Simon was stood in front of him, still wearing his borrowed clothes and with that fucking blanket round his shoulders like a kid at a sleepover. Mark's mouth was dry and he really needed to brush his teeth. 

"You alright?" He croaked, then registering that Simon was up and out of bed he came to faster. "What's happened?" 

"Nothin, calm down. Am hungry. A want toast." 

Mark frowned at him, confused - either he'd woken up in a parallel universe or they were coming out of the eye of the junkie storm. Simon looked better already - gaunt still and tired but with a hint of a sparkle in his eye, and it made Mark's stomach flip. 

"Yes. Alright, yes. A can do that." Mark made to move from the desk, stretching his stiff limbs and bringing his watch to his face - just gone ten am. He hadn't slept so long for a while, not that he felt any better for it. His stomach growled. 

"Have you no been eating?" Simon asked, a smug grin spreading across his features. "Ye've no been too worried about us have ye?" 

Mark stared at Simon in disbelief. "Worried? Ye've just spent the last few days writhing about in fuckin agony and ye ask me if am fucking worried?!" 

"Alright, sorry, fuckin hell, am jokin!" Simon held his hands up in surrender, the smile on his face falling. "You get more Scottish when yer angry." 

Mark rolled his eyes and moved to the door. "I've no bread in, I'll need to go down the shops. I'll pick you up a toothbrush too, you fuckin reek." 

"You fuckin live here and you're worse, wits your excuse?" 

"Ha ha. Do you want anything else whilst am out?" 

"Lucozade, please. The pink yin." 

Mark smiled and shook his head exasperatedly, forcing himself to leave and get some fresh air before he could think of a reason why he shouldn't leave Simon alone. If people stared at him on his way to Sainsbury's they didn't say anything, and he was glad not to run into anyone he knew well enough to need to sustain conversation with. 

He bought milk and bread, a new toothbrush, deodorant and a new packet of underwear Simon could use for the time being. The walk to the shop from his house wasn't long but allowed him the distance to remind himself of his own needs and routine, a moment of sanity to consider where they went from here and how he could get back to his life and routine with Simon back on the scene. 

He had to go back to work on Monday and he'd also agreed to that date on Saturday night, which he couldn't be regretting more if he tried. This was his problem - agree to something in a good mood, come to regret it as soon as he felt level headed again. The thought of cancelling made him uneasy though - he didn't want to change plans on Simon's account and was self aware enough to recognise the need to get out of the house and experience something along the lines of normalcy. 

If he was honest with himself, he'd stay in the house and never experience sunlight again if that's what Simon needed. He was somewhat protective of him even now and his childhood need to make Simon happy hadn't left him, even with years apart. 

When he got home Simon was huddled back on the sofa, although this time he had put the TV on and was flicking through the channels. Mark put the shopping on the table in front of him. 

"'M going for a shower. You know how to use a toaster." 

He turned and headed for the stairs, stiff and tired and anxious. 

"Rents?" 

Mark turned. 

"Thank you." 

Mark's stomach swirled. "You're nothing if not polite, Si." 

\----- 

Simon had burnt his toast so Mark had to make him more. They ate in silence for a bit, then Simon asked Mark what he actually did for a living. 

"Thought you knew a was a lecturer?" 

"Aye, but what do ye actually do?" 

"Well, a take classes and mark essays, write journals on things a find interesting, do research for the uni or the government, all depends really." 

"Does it make ye happy?" 

Mark shrugged. "Aye. It's - it's what a wanted, when we were kids. What a imagined for myself." 

"Ye never said, at the time." 

"Didn't want you to take the piss." 

"You know I would never have done that, Mark."

"Do a? Dunno, definitely remember you taking the piss out of everything a found interesting. What was it you used to say about history? Fuckin useless, something along those lines. A never made fun of James fucking Bond." 

Simon frowned. "Naw, a said that about the past. As in, not to dwell on it. No talkin about world war fucking two. You've got an awfy selective memory Mark." He got up and collected the plates, depositing them in the sink. "Mon sit on the couch with me, a want to watch day time telly and pretend am a middle class Tory voting bastard." 

"A don't vote Tory," Mark said petulantly, getting up all the same. "A can only sit for a wee bit though. Got work to do." 

"Your time is greatly appreciated, Professor Renton." 

\-----

When Mark woke up hours later all but asleep in Simon's lap, he told himself he was only annoyed at himself because he was failing to complete the work he was leaving to accumulate. He ignored the way he felt like something was easing inside his chest, years after being separated from his best friend. 

He moved carefully away, running a hand through his hair. He was sure Simon was still asleep, his breathing even, until he breathed without opening his eyes, "Mind you promised me dinner for getting clean. Saturday night'll be fine." 

Mark would've laughed if he didn't instantly want to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little one... I promise the next will be bigger and better!

Simon hadn't meant to get ratty when Mark told him he had a date on Saturday, but that's exactly what he'd done anyway. 

"If ye don't want me here just say and al leave, Mark," he'd said, and he knew he was being petty as fuck, but he deserved Mark's attention more than whoever he was going on a fucking date with. 

Mark had just rolled his eyes - cunt was always rolling those fucking eyes - and told him not to be daft, that he'd cancel if Simon really wanted. 

Simon did really want, obviously, but would he fuck admit it. 

"No, no, on ye go. Just think it's weird ye telt me there's naeone on the scene and then as soon as a mention being seen with me in public..." 

"Don't be fucking ridiculous! You canny be serious, surely?" 

Simon shrugged and tried to keep his expression neutral. He loved riling Mark up, lived for it, should have a degree in it, born for it if you will. 

"Just sayin what a see, Rents." 

Mark had gone away into his geeky fucking office then and slammed the door and left Simon sitting on the sofa watching Homes Under the Hammer. The ghost of his addiction was still under his skin but he felt better, almost good. He was infinitely proud of his self control when it came to getting off junk and even though it'd been touch and go, Simon was pleased Mark could no longer think of him as nothing but a junkie. It'd been fucking embarrassing being seen on the streets, aye - he wasn't actually homeless, course he fucking wasn't - plus the money for sitting on your arse and looking sad all day was unrivalled - but he couldn't miss out on the opportunity to see what the great Mark Renton was up to these days. 

He was surprised Mark had taken him in actually. There was that whole big thing when they were younger that Mark had never been able to get over, that had ultimately resulted in Mark running away to Aberdeen and cutting Simon out of his life. The rest of the lads had never properly understood why Mark had just... left them, the way he had, and it wasn't like Simon could explain that Mark was angry at Simon because Simon had screwed around with him a couple of times but ultimately didn't want what Mark wanted. That was Mark's problem: didn't like it when things didn't go his way. It wasn't Simon's job to keep him happy. 

Simon looked around himself and thought that he could get used to this, to this kind of luxury. He didn't have a place of his own but he flat hopped loads and always had a bed at his ma's, using or not, but none of that was anything like this - this was extravagant and rich and it was exactly how Simon imagined himself living when he was growing up. He thought about how alone Mark was and how if he played his cards right he could slot himself right in here, maybe get himself a wee hobby on the side, make dinner for Mark getting in every night - proper trophy husband. It was the ultimate existence. 

He waited half an hour before going and knocking on Mark's office door, not waiting for a response before pushing it open and gravitating toward the bookcase that lined one of the walls. 

"Come in then," Mark grumbled sarcastically at his desk. 

Simon studied the books on the shelf, each with thoroughly bent spines and somewhat sun bleached covers. 

"What's yer favourite book?" Simon asked over his shoulder, his fingers sliding along the shelves. 

"Haven't got one." 

Simon turned. "Haven't got one?! Everyone's got a favourite book, surely to fuck?" 

Mark spun round to face Simon. "There are libraries out there that have so many books that even if you did nothing but read from now until you died, you wouldn't be able finish every book in it. Think about how many books there are in the world; never mind just one room. A never read anything twice, there isn't enough time. Means nothing's really my favourite. All are equal." 

Simon frowned. "No even one that's stuck in your mind more than the others? There's no prize in tryin tae be hipster over a fuckin book." 

Mark leaned back in his seat and thought. "Honestly, not really. There are some that've been more poignant, aye, but that doesn't mean I'd want to be buried with a copy. Am not trying to be hipster, just how a feel." 

"Suppose greed's always been in yer nature."

"Greed? How's not having a favourite book greedy?"

"Just cos ye canny let yourself enjoy one book to the extent ye mibby want to, cos yer worried there's something better out there that yer missing. Greedy for more, desperate for better. Just how ye've always been." Simon was nonchalant, stating it as if it he was reading the date off a carton of milk. Mark was staring at him open mouthed, probably in shock that Simon was capable of complex thought. "I'll go out for dinner with ye tomorrow night instead, if ye want. Last offer though, last chance saloon. Am an in demand man, Mark." 

"What, your door stoop getting cold without you?" 

Simon grinned at Mark, half because he was impressed at the jibe, half because not getting annoyed would irritate Mark. 

Mark set his jaw. "Fine. Tomorrow night. But am not taking you out dressed like that." 

Simon thought about telling Mark he'd go and pick up some clothes from his ma's but didn't want to give away the game - he needed to appear as sad and desperate as possible here, so instead he just stayed quiet, looking down at his too-short joggies as though he was personally very satisfied by their presence. 

"A can take you shopping, tomorrow before we go out. If you feel up to it, of course. We can always order in. Going out'll use a lot of energy." 

"Ye sure yer no embarrassed ae me? Cos aw am hearing is protest, Mark." 

"Don't ask ridiculous questions Simon, seriously. Now, if you don't mind getting out, I've got a mountain of work to deal with." 

"Mibby a can help ye out? What is it yer workin on?" 

Mark scoffed. "Do you know anything about 14th century death records?" 

Simon's eyebrows rose. "Al mibby go for a bath or something. Ye got a spare razor a could borrow?" He ran his hands over his growing stubble. 

"Aye, top of the cabinet in the bathroom. Dunno though, you quite suit the bearded look." 

Simon grinned, winked, and left, closing the door behind him and heading for the bathroom, musing over the grotty bathtubs at the places he'd been staying and how he'd never have believed you twenty years ago if you'd have told him Mark Renton kept scented bath salts in a clear jar on his bathroom shelf. 

\------

Mark had booked them a table at The Witchery, because he'd fancied their Surf and Turf for a while and thought Simon deserved some luxury after what he'd been through the last week. 

They'd been shopping earlier in the day, some shops on George Street, and Simon had got some jumpers, shirts and trousers, and a pair of shoes that costed more than a month's rent at some of his old flats in Leith. It was maybe unnecessary, buying him so many clothes - but Mark wanted to spread the wealth, and besides, it made him happy seeing Simon happy. 

Simon kept on referring to Mark as his sugar daddy, and Mark was pretending to be put out by it but if he was honest it was only serving to turn him on. Call him crazy, but looking after Simon had never not been the best feeling. People had sex with statues and shit; he was allowed this small happiness. 

They'd bumped into someone on the street who'd called Simon Sick Boy and talked exaggeratedly about a party they were going to tomorrow night, insisting Simon came along. Simon had shut down the conversation as swiftly as possible, tugging Mark along and not answering questions Mark had about who the person was. Mark chose not to think too much into it. 

They got ready for dinner in their respective bedrooms and Mark couldn't shake the feeling that this felt like a date of sorts. He threw on a jumper and some jeans and styled his hair for the first time all week, before going down stairs and waiting for Simon in the kitchen, his heart beating, feeling like he was waiting for a prom date coming down the stairs. He reminded himself that he was meeting Linda tomorrow and reasoned that this would be good practice, if anything. 

Simon joined him not long after and he looked good - almost healthy, nearly how Mark remembered him. Simon was grinning at him like he knew something Mark didn't; like he was in complete control of everything around him. He kept standing too close, complementing Mark on his aftershave and reaching out to touch the fabric of his jumper, and it was unsteadying to Mark how it made him feel like he was nineteen again. 

He ushered them out the door and into a taxi as quickly as he could, putting some meek distance between them and looking determinedly out of the window. 

"Mark?" 

Mark looked at Simon. 

"Relax. Yer on edge." 

Mark smiled and exhaled. "Sorry. Dinners make me nervous." 

"This a date like? You nervous cos we're going on a date?" His eyes were glittering and Mark couldn't help but smile. 

"Shut up. You wish this was a date." His voice was weak, but Simon let it slide. 

Mark paid the driver and they got out, making their way into the restaurant. It was situated under the castle and the views were breathtaking, the atmosphere of the restaurant intimate and cosy. There were probably a hundred and one places they could've gone that would have been more appropriate however, and Mark internally cursed his past self for thinking this would be a good idea. 

They were seated near a window, at a small two person table opposite each other. The restaurant was busy and the hum of voices forced them to lean closer together in order to be heard. Mark ordered a bottle of wine, insisting he knew what was best on the menu, and the pair sat back and took each other in whilst the waiter poured. 

For someone he'd just found on the streets less than a week ago, Simon fitted in well in this setting. He carried himself with so much confidence that it took Mark's breath away. He wasn't hunched in on himself the way he had been when they'd first bumped into each other, his chest rose and fell stronger, his movements were more certain. He wasn't sure if it was the absence of the drugs or the effects of Mark's attention, but either way he was glad. 

"Tell me about this woman," Simon asked after a moment, swirling the wine in his glass. "What's she like?" 

"Clever. Small. Blonde." 

"How many times have you seen her already?" 

"Tomorrow's our first date." Mark's cheeks heat up. "Av been putting it off until now." 

"Why? Don't remember ye being as shy as this." 

Mark pointed at something on the menu. "Have you ever had scallops? They're really braw. We should get some." 

They stared each other out for a question, a silent battle of wills - Simon eager to dig into Mark's romantic life; Mark eager never to discuss anything other than this menu with Simon ever again. 

"Mark... answer ma question." 

"Dunno, just... wasn't feeling it." 

"Ye weren't feeling it? Like ye dinny fancy her?" 

"Fuck sake Simon," Mark groaned, "Can we no talk about something else?" 

Simon opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the waiter asking if they were ready to order. Mark ordered for them both, blushing when Simon mouthed "sugar daddy" at him across the table. The waiter left, and Simon leant forward. 

"No sexual attraction?" 

He was speaking slowly, carefully. Mark recognised this as Simon's come to bed voice, and confusion flooded his mind - either he didn't know he was doing it, which was unlikely in such an operator, or he was trying to flirt Mark off his date or into bed. Mark steeled himself. 

"Plenty of it. 'S not why av been putting it off." 

"Why do a feel like you're lying to me?" 

Mark poured them each another glass. 

"There not some women out there wondering where you've got to the past week? Not gonna have the police at the door looking for you am a?" 

"Naebody's business where a go, ye ken that. Rule number one wae the birds." 

"Always were a man of mystery." 

Simon ran his fingers up and down his wine glass, his eyes not leaving Mark. 

"Ye ken me." 

The waiter brought their food to the table, setting it down in front of them. Mark requested another bottle of wine and topped up their glasses with what was left of the first. He could feel the heat of the alcohol under his skin and hoped the steak he'd ordered would sober him up a bit. Simon seemed to be handling his alcohol well which was unsurprising given that he'd been injecting heroin not a week before. 

After a few mouthfuls Simon set down his knife and fork and looked at Mark. "Didn't ye also promise ye'd feed me yerself? A kept up ma side of the bargain..." 

Mark's eyes bulged. "Jesus Si, really?" His pulse picked up and he had to remind himself to breathe.

Simon licked his lips and picked up a bit of steak on his fork, offering the handle to Mark. "Dinny be a sore loser." 

Before he had a moment to consider how ridiculous this was, Mark took the fork, shaking his head and lowering it into Simon's waiting mouth. The completely inappropriate manor in which Simon took the food from the fork was enough to cause a stir in Mark's pants and he diverted most of his willpower to thinking about completely unsexy things, to keeping control. 

Simon laughed as he ate, blinking slowly at Mark. "Yer so tense Rents. Mibby this date the morra'll do ye a world ae good, if ye kin get yer end away. Might be yer problem." 

"You don't know when the last time a had sex was." Mark replied, his mouth suddenly dry. 

"Pretty sure, judgin on yer body language n the way yer lookin at me like am a fuckin slice ae cake, it's been a while." 

Mark blinked and sat back. "Am not looking at you like anything." he said matter of factly, making a mental note not to drink any more. Simon sniggered and they went back to their food, eating in silence for a while. 

After the meal they chatted a while longer, laughing and enjoying each other's company once Mark had loosened up a bit, finishing the wine. Mark paid the bill and Simon didn't have to say it for Mark to be thinking it, their eyes meeting as Mark punched his pin number into the card machine. 

They got home and Mark felt the tension was palpable - he couldn't be sure it it was mutual or if he was just half cut and horny and in too close proximity to Simon Williamson. 

They orbited around each other silently, toeing off shoes and hanging up jackets, feeling strangely like this was their home and this was their routine. They were so close, arms brushing and skin tingling, and the smell of each other was heady and intoxicating. 

"Ye a want another drink?" Simon whispered, not wanting to pierce the silence. 

Mark didn't want to cut the night short but didn't trust himself not to do something he'd regret in the morning. He shook his head, smiling up at Simon anyway. 

"Thank you, Si, for a good night. A enjoyed it." 

"Nah, thank you. For all this. It's been... am very lucky." 

They looked at each other for what felt like ages, and it could've been a trick of the dark but Mark was sure he saw Simon's eyes go to his lips, so he put distance between them and backed towards the stairs, leaving Simon where he was in the hall. 

"Am going to bed. Al see you in the morning." 

Mark definitely definitely definitely wasn't thinking about Simon when he came all over his own hand that night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooo sorry for the wait on this - I just graduated and moved from Edinburgh to the USA, so I've been pretty hectic - I promise there won't be such a gap again! 
> 
> Hold tight, I'm excited for the next chapter!

Mark was nothing but jumpy the day of the infamous date with the infamous small blonde from his infamous university department. 

By the time Simon woke up, Mark had been for a run, had showered, been shopping and was pacing energetically around the bottom floor of the house. He'd always been much more placid when they were kids, Simon thought, and he wondered aloud at Mark if smoking all the weed they had as teenagers had been what had mellowed him out back then. 

Mark looked up at Simon's voice like he hadn't noticed he'd entered the room, and frowned. "Sorry?" 

"Ye no wantin a joint or that to relax? Used to dae the trick back in the day did it no?" 

Mark glared at Simon. "Don't be fuckin stupid. A don't do that shit. Make yourself some breakfast or something and get out of my hair, Si. My mind's preoccupied." 

"Shouldn't go on the fuckin date if it makes ye this unhappy," Simon grumbled, plodding to the fridge and opening it, taking out a packet of bacon and reaching for the bag of bread. 

"Sorry Simon? Speak up." Mark snapped, and Simon looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. 

"How about a massage or suhin? Ye'll gee yersel a headache, no ideal hours before a hot date..." 

Mark ignored him. "A got you some stuff in you could have for dinner, if you were still here like. No pressure." 

"Ye think am gonny hang about in here whilst yer oot gettin yer jam roll? Al no cock block ye, a kin find somewhere tae stay the night, Mark." 

"No, am not saying - you don't need to leave. And if we were going to go home together we'd go to hers." 

Simon grinned. "When wis the last time ye had a shag? Want me to remind ye how it goes?"

Mark shook his head exasperatedly and made to leave the kitchen, unwilling to be around Simon in this mood. "Wait, Mark - am no takin the piss. Genuinely askin. Mon sit down." 

Mark stopped in the doorway and Simon could see his shoulders deflate. He turned and pulled up a stool at the island, staring at his hands. 

"Am fucking shitting myself Si. Its been that long." 

Simon put down the food he was holding and slid onto the stool across from him, bracketing Mark's thighs with his own. 

"If its any comfort, ye were great wae me last night. Ad definitely have went home with ye." 

Mark's eyes dropped to the floor, a flush bleeding across his cheeks subtly. 

"You did go home with me ya fanny," Mark mumbled, and Simon bent his head slightly to make eye contact again, pulling out the big guns because he'd be damned if he gave up Mark's attention to someone else without a fight. He licked his lips and looked at Mark's mouth. 

Mark put his feet on the ground and pushed his stool back, putting instant space between them. "Don't go there, Simon. Don't take advantage of my apparently blind good will." 

Simon held his hands up in defeat and got back up, picking up the bacon he'd put down minutes earlier and grabbing a frying pan from the cupboard next to the cooker. 

"What have you and - what's her name, Lisa?" 

"Linda." 

"Linda got in common?" 

"She's a bit younger than us but we're both on the same academic committee that oversees the journey of nationalism from the neolithic to the nineteenth century." 

"Both fuckin geeks then. Stop worrying, talk to her about that aw night. If yer a couple ae glasses in and still don't want to rip her clathes off tell her ye wanty wait, if not - go back to hers n dae the deed. Obviously ad prefer if ye sat in with me aw night..." 

Mark sighed. "Do you really want me to stay in Si? Its no like a need much of an excuse to have to cancel. You've only just started getting back on your feet as well, maybe going away out is a bad idea..." 

Simon turned from the bacon he was cooking. "In the interest of full disclosure, Mark, a masel am horny as fuck and will definitely put it on ye if ye do stay in. Just tellin ye what yer options are." 

Mark blushed and frowned. "Are you taking the piss Simon? Because am really not in the mood. It's actually really fucking rude, considering. Is this still as much of a joke to you now as it was then?" 

"Ye ken ad shag anythin wae a pulse, Rents." Simon kept his voice even and his expression schooled, unwilling to let his face betray him and get in the way of his plan. "Go out. Dinny worry about me. Al be here, waiting, chilling. A appreciate what yer doin for us, ye deserve a night off. Yer a good person." 

Mark decided to change the subject, dragging his eyes away from the line of Simon's shoulder blades and staring out the kitchen window instead. "Do you think a show at the fringe would be a bad date? Like, too touristy, too impersonal? A was thinking of taking her to that comedian boy who narrates Love Island, she's always talking about it on Facebook. There's a couple tickets left." 

"It's no the classiest, naw... but it sounds awrite." Simon lifted the bacon from the frying pan and set it down on a plate, turning round to face Mark again. "Fringe fanny loves a Scot so at the very least if it didny work wae Lisa ye could pull someone." 

Mark did leave at that remark, intending to sit on the sofa and read some emails on his phone to keep busy but ending up pacing the length of the living room, going over in his head any conversations he'd had with Linda in the past; thinking about how dates had gone pre-marriage and whether or not the dating game had changed beyond recognition since his days of youth. 

Simon came in behind him with a bacon sandwich and dropped his weight heavily on the sofa, legs folding beneath him. He took a bite of his breakfast and watched Mark pace, growing increasingly irritated. 

"Mark. Yer givin me fuckin indigestion. Sit down." 

Mark grudgingly did so, sitting on the edge of the chair and looking over his shoulder at Simon. "Get ketchup on my fucking white sofa and you're gone." 

Simon set the sandwich down and wiped his hands on his pyjama bottoms, the crumbs rolling perilously close to the upholstery. He tilted his head and finished his mouthful. 

"Let me play with your hair for ten minutes. A swear it'll relax ye, then ye can have another shower or suhin and get ready, have a couple ae beers to take the edge off before the date. And dinny be stubborn for nae reason." 

Mark looked at the earnest expression on Simon's face, and before he could think twice about it allowed himself to be lead by the instruction, plonking himself on the floor between Simon's knees and shuddering as the first hand came to rake between the strands, taking his mind deeper into thoughtlessness with every knead. 

Mark's hair was soft under Simon's fingers and Simon could feel the way Mark pushed against the pressure, seeking touch even when his mind was clearly telling him to keep a safe distance. Simon didn't blame Mark for this - it was a self preservation thing that Simon knew he'd caused all those years ago, when sex meant nothing to him and everything to Mark and they couldn't reconcile the difference. 

He thought about bringing it up now but didn't want to disturb the peace. Instead he worked his hands over the relevant pressure points, down the nape of the neck, over his shoulders. The only sound was the watch ticking on Mark's wrist and their breathing, and Simon was struck by the return of his libido and how he'd rather be the one getting worked over by Mark tonight - he couldn't stop thinking about Mark as his sugar daddy and how he'd like to explore that side of himself; the side that enjoyed being taken care of and looked after. 

He could feel a semi developing and he couldn't help the way his hands slowed in Mark's hair, tugging slightly and curling his toes in the plush carpet. He thought about how to get what he wanted, considered the ways this could go so wrong, and steeled himself anyway for what he was about to say. 

"How you feeling, Mark?" 

"Mmmm... good. S'nice." 

Simon swallowed. "A like making you feel nice, daddy." 

What felt like forever passed, but it could only have been a second or two. Mark tensed instantly under Simon's hands and pulled forwards, stumbling to his feet awkwardly. Simon just looked up at him from where he was sat, under the eyelashes, mouth parted just so - fucking foolproof. 

Mark closed his eyes and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Am fucking warning you right now, Simon, right fucking now - this stops." 

"Okay. Am sorry, dad-" 

Mark walked forcefully out of the room, grabbing his coat and wallet and stopping once more in the doorway. 

"If you're no going to take me seriously, don't be here when a get home. Am not kidding. Do not be in my house if you're going to keep doing that. Al see you later." 

Simon stood up. "Rents, wait - " 

The door slammed shut, and Simon sighed and went back to his sandwich, wondering if he could guess Mark's laptop password so he could get off to some porn later. 

\------

Mark hadn't done a stride of pride since he was in his twenties and he felt strangely proud as he walked through the quiet Edinburgh streets towards home, trying not to let his anxiety over whether or not Simon would be in the house kill his post-sex glow. 

The date had been good, despite the way he'd left home before it - he'd gone for a walk and calmed down a bit, had a couple of drinks to loosen up before his date and when they'd met, he felt all his stupid anxiety drain away. 

Linda was chatty and kind and sexy and they could hardly draw breath for talking, conversations about history and politics and even Simon, Mark relieved to be able to tell someone what was going on and hear that whilst it was fucking crazy, welcoming a heroin addict into his home, it was probably the right thing to do given the history between them. 

He didn't tell her about their sexual history and how Simon had all but broken Mark's heart, worried she'd think it weird and be less attracted to him. He knew Simon would own the fact, that he'd make it so that his homosexual tendencies were less strange and more 'I'm-utterly-insatiable-and-therefore-will-give-you-the-ride-of-your-life', but he wasn't Simon and he didn't know how to glamorise those parts of himself that he'd not always been totally confident of. 

He'd been keen to go back with her in the end, hands sliding all over each other in the taxi home to her place in Bruntsfield, his heart hammering as he tried to remember the steps and how to make this as enjoyable for them both as he could. 

They didn't even make it to the bedroom in the end - he'd bent her over the kitchen table and they'd fallen asleep on the living room rug in a semi-drunk great sex haze, waking up to another round and a shared cigarette from her third floor window. 

She'd asked him to stay for breakfast but he made his excuses and left, not wanting to waste a good thing by having too much of it. By the time he was back in his street the loose feeling he'd woken up with had abated and he was anxious again, nervous that Simon would still be there and even more nervous that he wouldn't be. 

It was still early and when he turned his key in the lock the house was silent, unmoving. He held his breath and crossed the threshold, removing his coat slowly and making his way up the stairs. 

Simon's bed was empty and un slept in. Mark's heart sank at the sight, his imagination throwing up images of Simon lying in a crack den with a needle in his arm, or more likely in bed with someone else, maybe even half of Mark's possessions in a bag waiting to be pawned. 

Mark went to his room and changed from last night's clothes into shorts and a t-shirt, feeling deflated and wondering if he'd been too harsh yesterday. His phone pinged with a message from Linda asking if he'd like to do it again sometime soon, which he chose to ignore for the time being, and moped back down the stairs, planning on lying on the sofa all day before he had to get ready for going back to work tomorrow. 

He wasn't expecting to see Simon sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep, dribbling slightly onto the pillows. Mark's breath caught in his chest - the relief he felt was intoxicating. He was instantly irritated by how it felt knowing that Simon hadn't walked out. He considered waking him but decided instead on a quiet cup of tea in the kitchen, allowing him time to reflect and process the last 24 hours. 

\-------

Simon waking up was always like a toddler waking up from a nap, energised and tearing through the quiet like a Scottish 6ft tornado. Before asking Mark how it'd gone last night or apologising for his inappropriate behaviour, Simon was whiny and demanding breakfast, a cup of tea, a glass of orange juice. 

Mark liked taking care of people, and he liked having Simon live with him, but he couldn't help feeling a bit taken advantage of and pissed off that his feelings of consideration weren't reciprocated. He held it together for the sake of preserving his good mood though, and was frying Simon's second egg when he was finally asked, "So am guessing it went well?" 

"You care all of a sudden?" 

"A don't particularly like knowing you've been sleeping with people, no, but a feel personally invested in this case." 

Mark rolled his eyes. "It went very well. We're meeting again." 

He dished the eggs onto a plate and put it heavily in front of Simon, who blinked innocently at him like a wounded dog. 

"Am a annoying you, Rents?" 

Mark folded his arms. "Wee bit. All the demanding and that. You're fuckin rude sometimes actually." 

"A trust you to put me in ma place when a need it. Am sorry." He smiled gently and picked up his fork, and Mark nearly blew a gasket - he knew exactly what Simon was trying to do, the line he was toeing carefully. 

"You're an adult. You can keep yourself in check." 

He left after that, but he was keenly aware of the fact that as much as this behaviour wound him up, the thought of Simon being gone had been even worse. And it wasn't that it totally wasn't a turn on - fuck, he'd done everything in his power to keep the image of Simon calling him daddy out of his head the whole time he was shagging Linda last night, but he didn't trust Simon sexually one bit, not after last time, and he had to protect himself. 

Mark went for a bath in the end, mentally preparing himself for his return to lecturing and the thought of leaving Simon at home alone every day - he worried that when left to his own devices, Simon would grow bored and return to heroin and the life he had left a week ago. On some level Mark knew that Simon had been born to be cared for and had no issues with living in someone else's home or spending their money, but he worried that pride would take over and he'd leave anyway. 

He did a bit of lesson planning after his bath and messaged Linda back and forth which was calming and made him feel something like the teenagers he taught. Simon was quiet elsewhere in the house and Mark told himself to trust that he was a grown man and could look after himself. 

When they reconvened later that evening, Mark asked Simon if he was okay with Mark's return to work, and Simon insisted that he was, telling Mark he'd planned to go and visit his mum when Mark was out tomorrow and that he really appreciated what Mark was doing for him and that he'd use the PC in Mark's office to email him if he needed anything. 

Mark only second guessed himself for a second before taking a card from his wallet and setting it down before Simon, trying to ignore the way his brain was shouting SUGAR DADDY over and over again. 

"Am going to leave you with this because a trust you. Its for emergencies or things you absolutely need when am not around. Don't take the piss with it Simon, honestly. The pin is 3264, write that down somewhere, do it now." 

Simon grabbed a napkin and a pen and wrote it down, grinning at Mark dopily. "Ye ken what that makes us, don't ye? Or what it makes you to me?" 

"Don't push it Williamson. You're my brother." 

"Brothers dinny do the things we've done Renton. But thanks. For the card. A wont act the goat with it." 

They ate a quick dinner and Mark begged off to his room, blaming tiredness and the need for a good sleep before work. 

It was a warm, restless night of tossing and turning and untraceable anxiety. 

\-----

His nerves were unnecessary in the end - being back at work felt like properly being Mark Renton again, like being the smartest person in the room and respected at the same time, without feeling guilty about it or second guessing himself all the time. 

He didn't see Linda much - they'd agreed not to let their behaviour warrant office gossip so early on - and was so busy with students who needed upcoming essay advice that he didn't have a chance to worry about how Simon was getting on back at home. 

Edinburgh was scorching on his way home, beginning to really fill with tourists for the season and giving off that ever present vibe of potential that he loved so much. He was thinking about heading to a beer garden when he pushed open his front door and was welcomed by the smell of food - Asian, if he guessed correctly. 

"Si?" He shouted, dumping his satchel and shoes at the bottom of the stairs. 

"In the dining room!" Simon shouted back distantly. 

Mark followed his voice to the dining room, where the table was set up with a stir fry and wine, Simon setting a plate of what looked like prawns in the middle of the table. 

"A made dinner. Hope ye don't mind, a used the card to get some stuff... thought dinner was kindy a necessity?" 

"Aye, of course Simon - this is amazing. Thank you," Mark replied softly, sinking down into one of the seats and bringing the glass of wine to his lips. "Didn't know you could cook." 

"It was trial and error honestly, but a stir fry's pretty easy. A wanted to do something nice for you." 

"How was your mum?" Mark asked as they began eating, moaning his appreciation around a mouthful of noodles. "This tastes incredible." 

"She's good, just her usual - she was fair chuffed am back in contact with ye, said she could see a looked better already. Aw that mum shite." 

"You do look better Si. Healthier. How're you feeling now?"

"To be honest, it is hard. When ye get off it it's no just the drug ye have to contend wae. There's a whole manner ae human issues to sort out. But am doing well. Being here makes it easier. How was work?" 

"Good. Nice. A really love my job, even when its demanding and full on. Am very lucky." 

"What'd you do?" 

Mark explained his day, the kids, the academics of uni life, and Simon pretended to be fascinated even though he probably didn't know what half the terms Mark was mentioning meant. 

"Oh, a meant to say - mind Spud, from the school n that when we were younger?" 

"Aye, vaguely - why?" 

"Bumped inty him today. Couldny believe it when a telt him am livin wi ye, said he's keen to go fur a drink one time n a catch up. If ye fancy it like, no pressure." 

"Maybe. Do you not think we'd have nothing to talk about?" 

"Probably no. But it'd be nice anyway. Old time sake n that." 

When they'd finished eating Mark moved to clean the dishes but Simon had insisted, and Mark waited for him with his wine in hand and a warm glow up the back of his neck, moved by the simple domesticity of it all. That done, they took the bottle and their glasses out to the front steps of Mark's building and chatted in the deepening sun, enjoy the sounds and feeling of summer and each other's company. 

They grew increasingly tipsy and Mark found himself recounting some of the details of his Saturday night to Simon, feeling like a teenage boy but still keen to brag about the amazing sex he'd had. Simon ooed and aahed in all the right places, letting Mark ramble on, and then he looked Mark dead in the eye and said "Aye, that's hot, but have ye ever spanked anyone?" 

Mark simply blinked a couple of times before shaking his head slowly, sending rapid brain signals to his cock to fucking ignore this conversation, for the love of god. 

"Mmm. S'nice. For me anyway, s'nice when it happens to me. You've good hands for it as well - just saying." 

Mark didn't respond. Instead he just looked at him, at the man sat beside him on his front steps, the man he'd spent his youth with and experienced so much of the world with, a man with whom silent power struggles like this were the norm and Mark almost never came out on top. He didn't know what Simon's game was here - maybe he was just really horny; maybe he was trying to trick Mark in some typically Sick Boy way - he wasn't sure yet, so he picked up a hand and turned it over between them, as though contemplating its size and strength, and stood up and stretched, downing the last of his wine and stepping toward the door. 

"Am going to hit the hay. Thanks again for dinner, Si - a appreciate it."

The city was too hot that night for his shower to reach the icy coolness he needed to bring himself back down to earth.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did NOT intend for this to take a kinky turn. My bad for leaving so long between chapters. Hope you enjoy anyway!

That was how they continued for the next few days - Mark'd go out to work, come home to dinner made by Simon, the house work done (well, attempted), and they'd sit outside with a beer or go for a walk and inform each other about their days. Mark was somewhat unnerved by how well it was going - after any sustained period of time together as kids they'd done nothing but bicker and argue and he was always waiting patiently for a heroin relapse, which he'd read was common and should be expected. Simon was staying strong so far however, even with the temptations of Mark's credit card and all the free time he had during the day. Mark was infinitely grateful every day that Simon had so far stayed clean. 

Part of him knew the reason they were getting along was because Simon allowed it. Mark might be the one with the money and the house and the power to end all this in a second, but it was always Simon controlling the mood and the agenda - this had never not been the case, from the moment they were young kids and Mark had knocked on Simon's door for the first time, because he fancied his sisters. Simon was allowing things to run smoothly, either because he knew it would be stupid to fuck this up, or because he had ulterior motives of whatever sort. Mark ignored those thoughts. 

It was working was the main thing, and Mark even started thinking about the long term - about making this permanent and sorting out the extra council tax, a phone for Simon, arranging some kind of job for him at the uni so he had his own money to spend and would feel more independent. Mark thought about returning more to Leith and his family now that his fear of bumping into Simon was eradicated and thought if he could manage this, seeing the rest of the boys wouldn't be too bad either. 

It was also almost too perfect that things were going so well with Linda. They'd not stopped texting since Monday night and were planning to meet again on Saturday night, with plans to spend the day together on the Sunday. 

Simon had been pretty intense the past few nights with whatever ideas he had about himself and Mark, and it was clear that he definitely resented it every time Mark picked up his phone to reply to a text from Linda. Mark liked it in a weird, attention seeking way - and as much as he wanted to advise Simon to go out and have sex, to tell him he could even bring a bird back to Mark's house so long as she wasn't completely schemey, to blow off steam considering he'd just rediscovered his sexual drive - he stopped himself every time, the thought of it just niggling away the part of him that was controlled by jealousy and anger. He liked coming home to dinner and a friendly face this last week. They'd been getting closer and Mark liked the possessive feeling of contentment he had when he thought of Simon in his house, waiting for him to return, making him dinner. He liked, though he wouldn't admit it, the thought of Simon as his baby. So when Simon said it to him on Thursday night, that was the reason he lost it. 

He'd come home to a lasagna and Simon in a chirpy mood, glass of wine already in hand and pressing one into Mark's moments after he'd come in the door. He was tactile and his cheeks were flushed and Mark was having a hard time remembering why he was putting up so many barriers with Simon. 

"No way did you cook this from scratch," Mark teased, sitting down. "If I'd known you were such a good house husband I'd have taken you in years ago." 

"Turns out there's hunners of things ye can do with your life when heroin isny in the equation. Cooking's one of them." 

"Who'd've thought it, ae Si?" 

They ate, chatted and drank, Simon showing an interest in Mark's relationship and asking about their plans this weekend. Mark was happy to talk about her, but... it wasn't the direction he felt like going in tonight. Maybe it was the wine, maybe he was just losing his mind, but he wanted Simon to push the boundaries tonight. He wanted to see how far he could push back. 

He was blindsided when Simon told Mark he was going on a date, with a man, this weekend. 

Mark choked on his lasagna, his fork stalling mid air. 

"A man?" 

"Eh, aye... we met at yon shop doon the road. A think he lives a few doors down." 

Mark wracked his brains for gay men he knew in the street and his body ran cold. "Tell me it's no David Aitken." 

"Ye ken him?" 

Mark swallowed the image of David Aitken - 37, PR consultant - on his back with Mark on top of him and fought to keep his composure. 

"You are not going on a date with David Aitken." 

Simon sat up straighter, staring at Mark without blinking. "Thought you'd be happy for me, seeing as am exploring ma sexuality n that. And, av got to say, didny think ma sex life was part of the terms of our arrangement." 

Mark snorted a laugh and pushed himself up from the table, feeling embarrassed and jealous and angry at all once. He must've misread the situation, misunderstood Simon's intentions... he was always one step behind, always the last to know what was going on. 

Maybe he'd drunk too much tonight, maybe he was just desperate not to feel blind sided and tricked by Simon Williamson again. He looked at Simon, working to intimidate him through eye contact alone and took a deep breath. 

"Bend over that fucking table. Now." 

Mark could see it - could see the second that emotion ran across Simon's face, the visible shiver that ran up Simon's back. The moment Mark felt control return to his grasp. 

"What about Lin-" 

"A didn't tell you to ask fucking questions. A gave you a simple instruction. Do it." 

For a nanosecond Mark thought Simon was going to laugh at him and tell him to fuck off, still staring with darkening eyes and a strong posture. But then - and Mark was struck with relief, then instantly after it nerves - Simon got up, shoving the dinner plates out of his way, and lay down with his cheek pressing into the glossy finish of the table. 

Mark hadn't thought this through. He'd never done this before and he was sure it was something two people should discuss first. That aside, he was opening up a huge can of worms by going down this avenue - he was jealous, sure, but he had no right to be so possessive about it. He didn't even know that Simon really WAS - 

"Fuckin do somethin, Renton," Simon said, his voice gravelly, his eyes staring intently at Mark's still figure. "Fuckin David wouldny dither around when push came to shove, that's for certain." 

"Shut up," Mark snapped, jumping into action, adrenalin and a hot burst of jealousy driving him forward. 

He put a hand on either side of Simon's body, framing him where he was bent over. "You don't like something, you say tulip. Or am going to assume no means more. Understood?" 

Simon's eyes fluttered closed. "Yes, daddy." 

Mark yanked Simon's trousers down because he couldn't even allow himself to think about those words too much, couldn't allow himself to lose it so early on. He stared at Simon's bare arse and swallowed, his hands shaking with anticipation. He ran his hands over Simon's skin and Simon shuddered, and when Mark did it the first time it wasn't hard or anything but the shock and the sound of it was enough to make them both freeze, Simon turning his head to look Mark fully in the eye, both of them still and unmoving. 

"This - this is because after all I've provided for you over the last couple of weeks, you think its acceptable to go out and be with other men. Because you parade around my house trying to wind me up and you've been asking for this for days. Am a wrong?" 

Simon grumbled some kind of response, and Mark slapped him again. "Sorry?"

"Yes, yes av been askin fur it," Simon groaned, his eyes closed again. "Am a fuckin nightmare, a know." He breathed, and Mark tingled all over. 

He brought his hand back down again, marvelling at the way Simon's skin was blushing pink, how he could see his cock hardening where it was pressed against the table edge. He slapped him a couple more times, pleased with the way Simon's reactions became less measured and more animal, more automatic. Mark was awed by how much they both seemed to be enjoying this. 

"Some fucking state for someone who doesn't like men," Mark muttered, remembering the words Simon had used years ago to break things off with Mark. He knew better than to taunt someone over their sexuality, but he couldn't help how he was feeling. 

Simon was completely at Mark's mercy, his cockiness gone and replaced with pink skin, big eyes, pliantness. It was Simon at his best, Mark mused, pressing a hand over his own hardness. Simon hadn't even responded to Mark's comment and Mark felt a little guilty - it was below the belt given the state he had Simon in, that was for sure. He chose to think about it later and returned to the task at hand, striking Simon's skin once again. 

"Canny believe how much this is turning you on, you fuckin deviant," Mark said, and Simon's drowsy eyes blinked from Mark's clear erection back up to his face. Mark ignored it. "Don't want you goin near other men. Didn't like it back then, don't like it now. Don't fucking do it." Mark knew he was babbling nonsense, more to himself than anything else, but he was - enjoying himself, enjoying how doing this pleased parts of himself that he'd been ignoring for the longest time. He didn't care about Linda, his job, his ex wife in this moment - it was him, his dining room table, and his old best friend. Nothing else mattered to him other than following his instincts and making sure Simon knew the score. 

He smacked Simon one last time for good measure, then ran his hands through his hair, taking a breath and thinking about how a cigarette would be just the ticket right now. Mark pulled out a chair from the table next to Simon's bent body and sat down carefully, folding his legs and taking in Simon's form. 

"Please..." Was all Simon could manage, his legs visibly shaking. 

Mark raised his eyebrows at him. "Am not a mind reader. What do you want?" 

Simon closed his eyes. "A need... hurts..." 

Mark could see his hips stuttering against the table. "Stand up straight then. Slowly. Don't knock yourself out." 

Simon's hands came out to steady himself and he slowly rose from the wood, his cheek bright red where it'd been pressing into the surface. His eyes were wild, and he stood in front of Mark awkwardly, trousers round his ankles and erection on full display. He reached around and touched the raw skin on his arse, brows furrowing as his skin protested at being touched. 

"Get off, if that's what you're wanting. Do it now." Mark could hardly stop his voice from wavering. 

Mark could see him hesitating and was ready for the safe word to come out of Simon's lips, so he was pleasantly surprised when he did as he'd been told, taking a hold of himself and moving his hand slowly, one hand leaning on the table for support. Mark wondered how far he could push him. 

"Eyes on me." 

He did it, god love him, opened his eyes and looked at Mark and wanked himself off, and Mark knew then that he was right to take Simon in. He'd do it again, a thousand times, if it culminated in them here, like this. He was so turned on he thought the energy he was emitting could probably power a fucking Christmas tree. This had to be one of the wonders of the world. 

"Jesus, Sick Boy," he said softly, and Simon dropped himself like he'd been burned. 

"Don't - a canny - dinny call me that," he said quickly, eyes hitting the floor. "A dinny..." 

"Sorry Si, a forgot myself. Am sorry. Forget a said that. Go again," he urged, worried he was on the cusp of losing him again. 

Simon took a breath and restarted his task, and Mark swore heaven and hell were real right then. 

"You have never not been the hottest thing av ever seen," he said, and Simon came at that, gripping the table white knuckled, mouth open and eyes pressed shut, collapsing into the chair behind him as his body rolled with aftershocks. He didn't stay sat for long, for obvious reasons, getting on his knees on the floor instead and making his away across the floor to where Mark was staring at him, still as a piece of fucking taxidermy. 

He nudged Mark's knees with his head, making his way toward the erection pressing against Mark's jeans, excited to find out if Mark still made those noises when he was getting blown - 

But Mark pushed his seat back, standing up and making his way toward the door, not looking back as he shouted over his shoulder "let me get you some lotion, stay there," and Simon was left surrounded by their dirty dinner plates, half naked, covered in his own come and, for the first time in a long time, feeling fucking mortified.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These things I upload are always littered with mistakes which, for me, is always such a mood killer but I'm a nightmare at proof reading anything so I do apologise. Here you goooo! X

When Mark came back into the room, Simon was pulling his clothes back up shakily and quickly, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. 

"Si?" 

"Fuck off Mark. A mean it, go the fuck away from me. Just leave it," he spluttered, and Mark put the lotion on the table, feeling alarmed. 

"Simon - what did a do - wait a minute, speak to me?" He tried to command, not used to seeing Simon so shaken and uneasy. 

Simon looked him in the eye and Mark was shook by the raw emotion he found on Simon's face. 

"Ye canny just... just fuckin do that to me then leave me there like yer embarrassed even looking at me. A thought you wanted it too, a wasny trying to put ye out - " 

"A did! Simon, a did - you have to understand that it's hard for me, trying to open up again - " 

"Hard for you?! You're no the one sitting on the floor with a skelped arse left rejected like some fuckin loser that ye felt sorry fur!" 

Mark couldn't help the smile that broke out over his face, only just swallowing the laugh he wanted to let out. "Aw Simon, a only went to get lotio-" 

"Don't you fucking dare," Simon shouted, his hands shaking, "don't you fucking dare laugh at me!" 

"C'mere ma baby," Mark cooed, stretching a hand out, quietly thriving off the power of having Simon so vulnerable and upset. 

Simon pushed past him and - to Mark's amusement - kind of waddled to the stairs, his emotion real and palpable and raw. Mark grabbed the lotion and followed him, doing his best to school his expression into one of seriousness. "Am not laughing at you, Si, a just think you're cute," he tried, and Simon snorted as he pushed his bedroom door open, rifling through his drawers for the clothes he first came to Mark's in. 

"Am leaving, am fucking gone," he said, and Mark rolled his eyes. 

"Where you going to go? Don't be ungrateful Si." 

Simon turned to look at Mark, his eyes narrowed. "Don't fucking hold this over ma head Renton, a mean that. It was good ae ye, nae one would deny that, but am no - a don't owe ye anything but gratitude. A didny ask ye to take us in," he spat, pride bruised. He considered telling Mark that he wasn't even strictly homeless, but knew when to shut his mouth. "Ye've got more money n a better job than the rest ae us, but yer no better than any ae us. You'd huv taken heroin tae back then if that bird wisny in yer head." 

"Do you think that little of me?" 

"Do you think that little ae me like?" 

Mark held up his hands and sighed. "This whole fucking situation is weird Simon. The whole thing, whether we want to admit it or no. Just lie on the bed and let me sort you out, you must be in agony. Give me time to adjust." 

"If you weren't ready then ye shouldny have started this. Just because yer jealous? If ye dinny want me with other folk, why can a no be with you?" 

Mark sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside him, motioning for Simon to lie down so Mark could see to him. Simon did move, though with the speed of a child completing a task they had been adamant they didn't want to do, and lay down, shucking his trousers down and resting his head on his folded arms. 

"A don't think you want to be with me in the way a want or am ready for at this stage in my life. A honestly do think - and a don't mean this badly - that it's more of a... a curiosity fuck, a dunno. A think you just want to see if you can still do it, with me. Am jealous, aye, a'll admit it - am still adamant you aren't going on a date with him. But am telling you, as honestly as a can, that a think we have different motives here." 

Simon chewed that over for a while, enjoying the soothing motions of Mark's hand over his backside. 

"Give me a chance, Mark, please. Let me prove to you that am no gonny do what a done last time. A was young and a was a fanny and a - " 

"A don't want to hear it, its not going to change what happened," Mark was saying, even though he was desperate to know and understand why Simon had rejected him so bluntly and cruelly when they'd been fucking around all those years ago. 

"What are we doing then? Should a leave?" 

Mark finished his task and wiped his hands on his jeans, marvelling at how Simon's arse was glowing red and shiny from the cream, not quite able to believe that this moment was a thing that was actually happening. 

"A like having you here. Am just..." Mark could feel his resolve wanting to evaporate as he looked at Simon's face, gazing up at him from folded arms, the dark soft hair there framing him beautifully. 

Simon stretched out a hand and rested it on Mark's hip, stroking his thumb over the bit of exposed skin where his tshirt rode up from his jeans. 

"Am no gonny walk away from you again, Mark, am no gonny let ye down again..." Simon was saying, and Mark was thinking that he'd come this far already, and if he was going to be made a cunt of he might as well go all in, and he was trying to think about what twenty year old Mark Renton would've done, how he'd have played this back then, how even though he was definitely more intelligent now he still had zero insight when it came to Simon Williamson... perfectly illustrated by the way Simon now had both hands undoing Mark's flies, tugging at his zipper whilst his own were pulled down in the region of his mid thigh. 

Mark leaned back on both hands, swinging his leg round to frame Simon and telling himself in for a penny, in for a pound. His body didn't give a fuck about pride or dignity and his cock bounced out of his boxers eagerly and it was all Mark could do to blink and look away, trying to remind himself that if anyone should be embarrassed it should be Simon, spanked arse still on show, but not believing it anyway. 

Simon was so... into it, which was surprising and incredibly hot at the same time. When they'd been younger Simon always got Mark off with an air of superiority and almost boredom - something he had to do, rather than wanted to do. This was different. This was being so keen that Simon was getting slobber all over Mark and making quiet noises that Mark was sure he wasn't aware were coming out of him, brows furrowed, fingers gripping the sheets. Mark didn't move much, watching in silent awe at the way Simon's mouth looked stretched around him, hot pulses of pleasure spiking around his body every time Simon flicked his tongue just so. It was quite a marvel seeing him like this. Mark wondered if he could convince Simon to replace the heroin shaped hole in his life with a cock sucking addiction. 

There was a part of Mark that was worried Simon would get bored without receiving his own gratification, left over paranoia from before. This, coupled with the new found need in him to take care of Simon, was how Mark found himself pushing his friend away gently, quietly impressed at his own willpower. Simon looked up, hurt and confused, but Mark lay down fully and waved for Simon to clamber on top of him, pulling him round by the legs and helping to shuck Simon's trousers to his ankles, so that this way he could blow Simon at the same time as receiving himself. 

It was always difficult for the person on the bottom but Mark was experienced and careful and before long he wasn't thinking anymore, just focussing on taking what he could get and allowing himself to fully present and engaged with a sexual partner without worrying about anything and everything. Simon was a bit boisterous and choked Mark a few times, and the more he got into it the less attention he paid to Mark, but it didn't matter as long as Simon was enjoying himself - his pleasure only intensified Mark's. Mark came first, probably because it was his first of the night, but Simon wasn't far behind. 

Simon had never needed much time to rest after an orgasm, his hyperactivity only somewhat subdued by the bone deep satisfaction of climax. Mark needed longer to catch his breath, always had done, and he followed Simon with his eyes as he rolled off Mark and onto the floor, pulling his jeans the rest of the way off and inspecting his rear in the mirror on the wall. 

"Not a bad job Renton, there's a boxing career in the pipes for you yet," Simon said, and Mark looked away in quiet annoyance. 

"Don't put fighting for sport and pain for sexual gratification on the same tier Simon, its distasteful," he replied, and it was Simon's turn to roll his eyes. 

"Aaaand uni wank Mark is back in the room." 

Mark slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

"D'ye want to take a shower the gither?" Simon asked when Mark didn't reply, pulling his top off and standing in Mark's room in the buff. 

Mark looked around, at his beside table stacked with unread history books, a half empty glass of water from the night before. He looked at his washing basket that was piled with clothes and the TV that was on his wall, the cables running down to the adaptor at the bottom. His wardrobe, stuffed with shirts and ties and suit jackets, expensive shoes that he didn't need but had bought anyway for functions and award ceremonies. He considered that there were no pictures on the walls, no memories that struck him as he took in his surroundings. Then he looked at the man in this room - someone he'd known since childhood, since his days of living in a poky council flat with his brothers and his parents - and he thought about himself, growing older every day, pioneering historical research and teaching the minds of tomorrow and yet living a safe and easy life. 

He stood and pulled his own clothes off, going to the bathroom and flicking the shower on. He was lucky enough to have a shower cubicle rather than the bathtub with shower overhead affair he'd been used to growing up, which made it more convenient for more than one person to get in at a time. 

They slipped into the cubicle together, taking turns to get wet under the spray, Simon trying his best to spare his raw skin the assault of the hot water. They'd been naked together before, hundreds of times, so this felt nice and somewhat soothing. That was, until Simon laughed softly and said "Mind that time you gave me a blow job in the shower at yer ma n da's, back in like 95? We were shit feart yer brer was gonny walk in. Those were the days." 

He reached for Mark's body wash and Mark just stood there, disbelieving that Simon had just said that so nonchalantly. 

"Do a remember it? Aye Si, a do remember that funnily enough. A remember how you couldn't look at me for weeks after it, and how you told me a made you feel sick and you didn't want to be friends with me anymore. A remember you made me feel like a piece of shit and a was terrified to put my mouth on anyone else for months after it because a'd convinced myself you were put off because a was so bad at it." 

Simon was still, hand still under his armpit where he'd been soaping himself up. His face was expressionless as he looked at Mark, processing what he'd just said. 

"Jesus Mark, what is your fucking problem? Can ye no just let yersel be happy? A canny change what a did, a can only apologise fur it - and a huv, profusely." 

Mark shook his head and ran his hands over his face. "No one else can change what you did either Simon. Am just saying, you remember things differently. And it's important that you understand how you made me feel." 

Simon held up his hands in defeat and slid the shower door open, not one for discipline or even truth, for that matter. "Fuckin heid nip, man," he mumbled, and Mark decided to let that go. 

He followed Simon back into his bedroom and towelled off his hair, pulling on underwear and leaving to go downstairs and put away the dirty dinner plates - hot, kinky sex aside, he didn't need his house smelling of fucking lasagna.

He was loading the dish washer when Simon came into the kitchen and said "Are ye still gonny see Linda on Saturday?" 

Mark considered telling Simon yes, but knew that would be unacceptable - isolating Simon from other sexual partners and not doing the same himself wasn't something that particularly floated Mark's boat. 

"Probably, but just to set the record straight. Al tell her am involved with someone else or something."

Simon hummed his approval, moving to scrape some of the uneaten food into the bin. They finished cleaning up and locked the front and back doors, ascending the stairs in comfortable yet loaded silence. Simon turned to Mark outside his bedroom. 

"A really want to kiss you," he said, and Mark snorted a laugh. 

"Are you fourteen?" 

"Stop being a cunt." 

"Am going to bed. Al see you in the morning." Mark made to walk to his bedroom and close the door, but Simon followed him. 

"What side is yours?" He asked, bypassing Mark and loitering at the foot of the bed. 

Mark sighed but closed the door behind them anyway. 

"The middle." 

Simon climbed in on the left and pulled the duvet up under his chin, smiling sweetly at Mark. "Can you tuck me in Daddy?" 

Mark laughed. "That's fucking weird," he said, sliding in opposite Simon and taking his watch off, setting it down on the bedside table. He lay down and looked at Simon across the pillows, tired and nervous and deep down, something like happy. 

Simon leaned over eventually and kissed Mark on the lips, gently. It wasn't something they had ever done much - once or twice, but never sober and never to be discussed. They necked for a bit, which was nice and domestic and comforting. Simon had always been a good kisser and Mark could easily have let himself get carried away but he pulled back eventually, flicking off the lamp and settling down to sleep. 

He could sense Simon's brain waves buzzing around for ages after they'd said goodnight, but eventually they both fell asleep, neither dreaming much. 

\----- 

Mark woke up first and pulled on his running gear, leaving Simon cocooned in the sheets still dead to the world. He ran faster than usual, wanting to shut his mind up and not think about what happened next for an hour or so. 

The city was crisp and cool, sunlight just touching the roofs of Edinburgh's buildings. Mark thought that if a city could judge you, Edinburgh was definitely doing so now - the silence of the early morning was like a quiet reprimand; the usually intriguing and exciting gothic fronts of the tenements austere and reproachful. 

Mark let his feet carry him down to the shore at Portobello before heading back towards his neighbourhood, deciding to pop into the Scotmid and pick up some stuff for breakfast, maybe even some bepanthen for Simon's arse. He was sweaty and out of breath when he came to a stop outside the shop, bending over and breathing deeply. 

A pair of shoes stopped in front of him and Mark looked up just to see David, the very guy Simon had been about to go on a date with and someone Mark had been with a few times in the past - nothing serious, just the norm for Edinburgh's modest LGBT scene. 

"Alright Mark?" He asked, holding a bag of shopping in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. "How're you keeping?" 

Mark thought about whether it was appropriate to tell David to stay the fuck away from Simon, and decided that it most definitely was not. He did it anyway. 

"Alright David... listen, a was going to have him say this himself but a might as well seeing a've got you here. There's not going to be a date between you and Simon. Am sorry, a just find it too weird - " 

"What're you talking about? Simon who?" David was looking at Mark like he was speaking Swahili, confusion all over his face. 

"Simon Williamson? Bleach blonde, about 6ft - maybe you know him as Sick Boy?" 

"Am sorry Mark... a don't have a clue what you're on about." 

Mark couldn't understand what the fuck was going on - and he felt like a fucking idiot as it dawned on him that even when he thought he had control, Simon was always the one pulling the strings.


End file.
